A Favor
by Elodie the Scribe
Summary: One of Professor Crane's students asks him for something. Oneshot.


Gingerly, she touched her roommate's forehead and winced. "Geez, you're on _fire_."

The girl curled up in the bed coughed rather violently, making the other draw her hand back. "Tell me something I _don't_ know," she groaned.

Her friend couldn't suppress a smirk.

"If your stomach wasn't lined with mucus, it would digest itself."

Now it was the sick girl's turn to make a face. "_Ouch_!"

"Yup."

With a rough sigh, the brunette rolled over to look at the clock. Her eyes widened. When she spoke, her voice was a high squeal. "Oh, god, it's 6:55. Psychology is in five minutes!"

The blonde, who had been busy getting her friend situated, instantly made an odd sound-half gasp, half shriek-and began running wildly around the room, gathering her things. "No! No! Can't be happening! Oh god Crane will kill me! _He'll kill me so bad_!"

"Run! Freaking run!" she heard her roommate shout. "Run, and don't stop!"

"_Ohmygodohmygodohmygoooood_!" the blonde blubbered before slamming the door behind her and pelting down the hallway, nearly knocking over large boys in the process.

She had to sprint all the way downstairs, across two parking lots, and had to cross a particularly large grassy area before she even reached the building the class was in. _Then _she had to run through a long hallway before she skidded to a stop before two large double doors. Gulping for breath, she checked her watch. 7:03. "Crap."

Taking one last deep breath, she opened the doors as silently as she could and began the trip to her usual seat, trying to act like she wasn't absolutely terrified.

Until he completely ruined it. "Good evening, child."

She stopped dead. Her knuckles tightened painfully around the strap to her backpack. Slowly, stiffly, she looked up to the front of the class. Pale, sharp eyes stared back. His lips were twitching upward in a definite scowl, and he was able to make the thin metal pointer in his fingers look like a deadly weapon.

One eyebrow raised. "You're _late_."

He was glaring at her as if she'd violently murdered a puppy. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. "I-I'm sorry. Simone's sick, I was helping...her..."

She trailed off as his face didn't change, not the slightest bit. The memories of him doing this to other students were starting to creep in. She remembered the one girl who'd cried.

"A college student is perfectly capable of caring for herself, I suspect," he said to her, voice low and cool. "So you'll have to forgive me if I'm a little confused with your priorities, Miss...?"

"Don't ever give him your name," Simone had joked once. "Once you do, your soul will belong to him. Your _soooouuuul_."

Now, that seemed frighteningly real. She felt her hands shaking. "Quinzel. I'm H-Harleen Quinzel."

"Miss Quinzel," he said, making the words sound like poison, "if you are ever late to my class again, especially for such flimsy reasons, I _will_ see to it you will not need to enter my classroom again. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," she squeaked back, pretty much cowering.

His eyes narrowed. "Say it like a grown woman."

Heart pounding, she straightened herself up as much as possible, and tried her best to make her voice sound normal. "Yes, sir."

His eyes locked her in place for a few seconds more before he jerked his head his head towards the other students.

"Find a seat."

* * *

><p>It was difficult paying attention for the first couple of minutes, but soon enough Harleen got herself under control.<p>

The other students were sending her sympathetic looks. Crane's class wasn't very big-for obvious reasons-but she hardly knew any of them. Complete strangers, looking at her as if she'd been in some horrible car wreck.

Admittedly, it felt like she had.

But thirty minutes later, she was engrossed in the lesson. They were talking about the different drugs that affected the mind.

Yet...halfway through writing down some notes on caffeine, Harleen suddenly came to a horrifying, chilling, absolutely terrible realization.

With Simone sick in bed, she wouldn't be there to walk with Harleen back to the dorm.

Harleen's hand stopped moving altogether as her mind reeled. It was a ten to twelve minute walk, late at night, in the open. Anything could happen. This was Gotham, for crying out loud. Harleen still remembered the night a shady fellow followed her and Simone all the way from one parking lot to the other. If Harleen had been alone...

She fought back a shudder.

She didn't own mace, or a taser, or even a pocketknife. It was Simone who was always armed, not Harleen. She began to mentally kick herself _hard_ as some very scary images of what might happen to her flashed before her eyes.

Her fingers squeezed the pencil with more force. No. She wouldn't let herself panic. There was a solution to this. She just knew there had to be.

Her first idea-what if she simply asked one of the other students if she could walk with them? They seemed like reasonably decent people. She began to relax as she started to try and remember who walked towards her dorm after class...

Only to come up with nothing.

Harleen blinked, distress returning. All she could remember was that every single night, she and Simone would walk together. All the other students went in entirely different directions.

There was only one person who did. His car was parked in the second parking lot that Harleen had to pass everyday on the way to his class.

She found herself staring at the professor, who had moved on to nicotine. Only one parking lot between his car and her dorm. It wasn't too far out of the way...

NO! A small voice interrupted. This was Crane! _Crane_! The man who kicked a boy out of his class for being late three days in a row! The man who made a girl cry because using the restroom made her five minutes late her second day! The man who just walked up to a kid talking on his cell phone and just grabbed the thing and chucked it into the trash without a word! _The man you want to stay far away from_!

Harleen bit her lip. Crane, despite who he was, was the _only_ person she knew walked in the direction of her dorm. She would only have to cross one small, well-lit parking lot if she asked for his company. She knew it was much, much safer than walking the whole way by herself.

Although, knowing Crane, he would most likely refuse to do it. To him, asking for help probably was the same as stabbing him. Especially coming from the girl who'd been late to his class earlier, the same girl who'd been called things like "Barbie" enough times to know what most people thought of her based on her appearance alone.

Crane turned from the board to the students, starting to explain the side effects of cocaine.

His eyes were cold and expressionless, yet still managed to be intense. Sweet mackerel, she _hated_ his eyes. She and Simone had quipped once or twice that they just had to be the gateways to Hell.

Yet she also knew that Jonathan Crane was a professional, and still a human being.

A very, very cruel and unusual human being.

Harleen bit back a sigh, watching the man, thinking...

* * *

><p>"You can do this," she muttered to herself. "You can <em>do<em> this."

Harleen was approaching her professor from behind as tentatively as she could. Her blood roared in her ears, her heart was practically throwing itself against her chest, and her stomach twisted and churned. It didn't help that it was a particularly cold night and she was in nothing but blue jeans and a T-shirt.

Taking the deepest breath humanly possible, she called out to him. "Prof-professor?"

He stopped and turned to her. Yep, he was glaring.

"Yes, child?"

Oh, the way he was looking at her. She was extremely tempted to mumble "never mind" and then run in the opposite direction _forever_, but she curled her hands into fists and contained herself. Mostly.

"Well, like I said, um, Simone is sick," she began. "So, so, I have no one to walk with back to my dorm, and..."

Just like before, his glare remained the same. In the back of her mind, she wondered if he did this every time anyone annoyed him like it was normal or something.

"And, I've noticed you walk the same way...so, s-so, I was wondering...if I could just...walk with you? To your car, at least?"

How did his face not _hurt_?

He pursed his lips, and he drew himself up. "Why would I do that?"

He said it as if she'd asked him to punch himself in the face. Taking a second big breath, she said, "I-it just feels safer, is all. I don't wanna walk there by myself this, um, late at night in a place like Gotham. You know?"

Then, on impulse, she added, "Please, Professor Crane?"

He stared at her a couple seconds before his face became even _more_ annoyed. His nose crinkled slightly, as if he'd smelled some sort of nasty odor. Dread began to fill Harleen's stomach-

"Fine."

She actually jerked as she blinked very wide eyes at him. "Really?"

"Yes," he said, and his voice was actually strained. "But this had better be quick. I don't have all night."

He was already turning to walk away.

It took a few seconds for what was happening to register in Harleen's brain, at which point jogged to catch up with him. "Thanks," she told him, a part of her still screaming that this had to be some sort of bizarre dream.

"Don't mention it," he replied, not even looking at her, and she knew he meant that literally.

The first three minutes of their little stroll was spent in the awkwardest, most intense silence that Harleen had ever been subjected to. The professor's movements were stiff and tense. Swallowing, Harleen realized that he was just as uncomfortable as she was. It _had_ been nice of him to let her walk with him...

She noticed he carried a thick paperback book. "So, what are you reading?"

His eyes briefly flicked at her before he went back to staring ahead. "_The Crucible_."

Quite suddenly, things changed.

"Really?" she gawked at him before she could stop it. "I have that book in my room! I've read it so many times since middle school."

Now _that_ was an interesting look to see on Crane's face.

"You like it?"

He was looking fully at her now, and had actually slowed down a bit.

"Sure. It's a great book," she gushed. "It's just so _interesting_ to see how people can turn on each other like that, and how much damage some little girls can do. It's what got me interested in psychology in the first place."

He was still giving her that look. "Yes. Fear can be a very powerful thing."

"Yeah. It's probably one of our most primal emotions, you know? Even bugs know what fear is. Fear can turn us from men into animals so _easily_. It can completely ruin lives. And I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"It's alright," he said, still staring, but something in his face had changed just slightly. "I understand. I didn't become a psychology professor for nothing."

Strangely enough, she realized at that moment that she was smiling. She hadn't noticed it before.

He then said, "Yes, it does seem fear can have...negative effects."

She shook her head. "Not always," she said. "Fear can be good in nice, small, _healthy_ doses. It's fear that lets us know when a situation is dangerous. It's what triggers the fight or flight response, and the adrenaline rush that gives us energy and makes us impervious to pain. Fear can help us keep our common sense and keep us safe. It's what made me come to you tonight."

Okay, what was with _that_ look? Crane had nearly almost stopped.

He returned to staring straight ahead, moving stiffly again, but his face was completely different.

Then, "You said you were interested in psychology?"

"Yes. I want to be a therapist someday," she nodded.

"May I ask why?"

She hesitated...but she steeled herself. Talking about it would help, she knew. "Way back in high school I had a boyfriend. Most times he was the sweetest, most sensitive person you'd ever met. I remember that one year my family was broke, and couldn't get me anything for my birthday. I was okay with that, but he took me to the circus anyway. I loved the clowns..."

Now she stared at the ground.

"But he had...problems. He had to take pills and he had a therapist, but he hated him. At first I thought he was just bitter, but then I met the guy."

Rage flashed through her like lightning. "He was horrible to him," she ground out. "He talked to him like he was a small child, and scolded him whenever he complained about how hard his life was because of his condition. He never showed any compassion, any sympathy, _nothing_...one time he even called my boyfriend irresponsible after he admitted to having suicidal thoughts. Can you believe that? And his parents were paying this man hundreds of dollars!"

She huffed, crossing her arms, feeling that familiar catch in her throat. "It really was no surprise when my boy hung himself. But it still hurt. At least his parents sued that awful man and won their case."

She sighed, deflating just a bit. "That's why _I _want to be a therapist. People like my boyfriend need help. They need someone there for them, someone to be their friend. So they're not alone. And less likely to die."

For a moment, she was quiet, watching her feet move and utterly lost in her thoughts, until she remembered why she was saying all this. She looked back up at Crane, who was eyeing her with something like caution. She remembered Simone joking once about how panicked men became around a crying woman, simply because they had no idea what to do.

"Sorry," she said quickly, straightening. "I'm fine. So."

He looked skyward, as if he were desperately looking for something to say. They were entering the parking lot now. "What other books do you like?"

"Hmm. Stephen King novels. _Harry Potter_. _The Great Gatsby_. That sort of stuff," she said, grateful for the subject change. "I read a _lot_, though, it's kind of hard to keep track of them all. You?"

"I like Stephen King myself," he replied. "I tend to prefer horror novels, mostly."

He stopped. "This is my car."

She stared down at the rusty brown heap, raising an eyebrow, but she didn't say anything. "Well, um, thanks," she said, and then, with surprising honesty, "It was nice talking with you."

Crane blinked back. "Yes, it was," he said, and for a split second he looked utterly confused.

Then he was stiff and tense and uncomfortable again, unlocking his car door. "Good night, Miss Quinzel."

"You, too, Professor," she said to him, starting to walk towards her dorm. "Thanks again!"

From inside his car, he gave a small, awkward little wave, then began to drive off. Harleen made it the rest of the way to her room without incident.

As she walked in, she saw Simone was already fast asleep in her bed. With a smile, Harleen got into her own bed and pulled out a copy of _IT_. That..._had_ been surprisingly nice. She had actually just had a mostly pleasant conversation with Professor Crane, the same man who had absolutely terrified her over an hour and a half ago.

Harleen didn't know it, but that wouldn't be the last time she walked with Crane, or talked with him. She didn't know that months later, they would actually be friends.

She didn't know that in a few years, a certain terrorist dressed as a clown would steal her heart, and she would become Harley Quinn. Under that name, she and Scarecrow would occasionally be partners, and even live together sometimes. She would become just about one of the only fellow villains that Jonathan actually liked. She would never notice the look of longing on his face whenever she was in his presence. Not at first, anyway.

For now, she read the words of King, and smiled at how well her evening had gone. Across town, in his own armchair, Jonathan Crane did the same...

* * *

><p><em>Okay! Author's note time! <em>

_First off, I know that more than likely Crane never taught Harley in college. I thought it was an interesting concept, and it made sense; Harleen went into the same profession as Jonathan, after all. I rather like the Scarecrow/Harley pairing. It was hinted in _Batman: The Animated Series _that Crane was fond towards Harley; in fact, one scene where Scarecrow is nice to her is where I get the "Good evening, child" line. Seriously, go look it up on Youtube, it's totally a cute moment._

The Crucible _is a play about the Salem witch trials. Basically, a bunch of girls get caught practicing a voodoo ceremony for fun, and so they start lying that people in the village bewitched them to escape punishment. It actually is a pretty good story, although it has a very depressing ending._

_I took the "If your stomach wasn't lined with mucus, it would digest itself" bit from _Penguins of Madagascar_. Yes, you read that right._

_Also, for those of you wondering why Crane goes from "Grrr!" to O_O as he talks to Harleen: he thought that she was just another ditzy blonde girl, especially after she was late to class, despite the fact that she makes decent marks because he's a jerk that way and a girl from his childhood, Sherry Squires, ruined his perception of girls pretty much forever. Then she reveals that 1) she's a bookworm, like he is, 2) she shares his fascination with fear and the human mind, and 3) she wants to be a therapist, and for a pretty solid reason, too._

_It also explains his "Wait, what just happened?" moment when he realizes he actually /liked/ talking to her when they reach the car. He thought walking beside her would be the most painful experience ever. _

_Oh, Johnny. You're such a weirdo._

_OH, and for those going, "Why the heck does Jonathan park so far away from the building?": Um, let's say that that particular parking lot is the closest one, sadly. :D_

_Anyway, this is just a oneshot I wanted to do while I'm working on my bigger Batman story. Hope you guys liked it. Criticism welcome! _


End file.
